Endings
by StitchAndRepair
Summary: Mickey/Ian. Based on the promo. I don't get the ratings thing, so M just to be sure.


**Based on that awful, awful promo.**

**A big thankyou to Beth, Mintsauce, for putting up with my emails, reading the really, **_**really**_** rough version of this fic and for giving me the confidence to post it.**

**I own nothing, just my imagination.**

Even Carl had noticed that something wasn't right with Ian, had asked him if he got touched by one of the workers in the halfway house, because little Hank told him that shit like that happens all the time in those places and Ian shouldn't be upset if it did, because Carl would take a bat to the guy and it'd be ok, just stop looking sad all the time.

But Ian was fine, he was. He still hung out with Lip and Mandy and worked at the store and helped Fiona with everything around the house. He still joked with everyone and laughed when he was supposed to. He thought he was hiding it well, but in the spaces between seconds and the hours of silence at night, Ian's mind was a gray cloud of Mickey.

He'd seen him once since that moment on the rooftop when Mickey's silence shouted louder than gunshots. Mickey had seen him too, stared for a moment too long before ducking his head and catching up with his brothers. Mandy had grumbled to him one night about how he'd fallen back in with her fuckhead brothers and was up to no good again. All the questions Ian had practically choked him, but then Lip had burst in and called Mandy to bed and Ian never got to ask them.

It had been three weeks since Ian even had a sighting of Mickey and he was ready to explode. Everything reminded him of him and as much as Ian liked having Mandy around, she really wasn't helping. Mandy and Mickey shared far too many of the same mannerisms and responded with the same defensive attitude to everything. Ian even found himself staring at her, noticing how the slope of her nose and the curve of her jaw was just like Mickeys. Their eyes were different though, a different shape, a different size, except for the colour. They shared the same blue eyes, a trait passed down from their father.

They were walking through the school hallways and Ian was aware that Lip and Mandy were arguing yet again, but he wasn't listening. Growing up with parents like his, in an area like his, and so many siblings he learned quickly that the best way to avoid being dragged into something was to tune everything out and play dumb when asked about it. He watched as Lip stormed off and Mandy turned to look at him, teeth bared in anger like a wolf set to kill, her blue eyes suddenly brighter with rage. He half listened to her rant about something to do with men and women and he thinks he hears the word convenience in there somewhere. But then he hears Mickey's name and the noises around him suddenly rush back into focus, like a balloon inflating, and Mandy's talking of Mickey and marriage and pregnancies and Ian should feel something, but he can't. It can't be true. Mickey - His Mickey - wouldn't...

His teacher was talking to him, calling his name about something and he wasn't even sure how he got into class, but people are looking at him and Mandy's face is screwed up at him like he's grown an extra head. He blinks, "uh..." he looks around, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest like a woodpecker in a tree, and his bag drops to the floor as he turns and leaves, running as fast as he can.

The El, the baseball pitch, the rooftops, the empty warehouses, the store, the Alibi. He looked everywhere, everywhere he's ever known Mickey to hang out. But he wasn't there. His heart was still beating, his eyes watering where he kept forgetting to blink, his brain thinking of nothing else but Mickey. He had to know.

Ian wasn't even sure how long he was searching for when he finally found him, clutching an almost empty bottle of whiskey. In an abandoned carpark that was half in ruins. Mickey had taken him there once to sell some coke and told Ian that it was a place he sometimes went when his dad had one too many.

Mickey's face is haggard, aged since Ian last saw him. The blues of his eyes were paler than Ian had ever seen, the whites almost grey. His eyes looked sore, red-rimmed and his stubble was days old.  
He was wearing the jumper that he got shot in. The first time, when Ian had ran to him when Monica reappeared. It was Ian's favourite for reasons he didn't quite know.

"Is it true?" he called out, "you're getting married?"

The silence echoes around him and Ian's heart finally slows, almost to the point of stopping and he has to remind himself to breathe. He watched as the bottle hits the ground, bouncing off it with a thunk and Ian watches, unblinking, as Mickey stands up, rubbing his thumb against the corner of his mouth.

Ian edged forward, his feet like lead, "to one of those crackheads you're dad pimps out?"

He watched as Mickey walked away, out into the harsh sunlight, flinching before his eyes manage to adjust.

His own feet are moving before his brain registers and he's suddenly closer to Mickey than he has been in a while and his chest swells with the sudden proximity.

"Is he making you do it?"

Mickey's rubbed his hands harshly down his face before he turned to face Ian. His eyes were burning holes in the floor at Ian's feet, his nostrils flared, " "

"Why are you doing it?!" Ian asked quietly, his voice cracking, "It's not cause you love her"

"How the fuck would you know?" Mickey shouted, the sudden noise scaring a flock of birds in a nearby tree,

"cause you love me"

Mickey didn't even blink before sucker punching Ian in his gut, winding him. Ian let out a groan as he fell down on one knee, "You love me and you're gay"

His voice was level, determined.

Ian barely had a chance to see the broken look on Mickey's face before he swung an impressive uppercut, knocking him to the ground.  
Ian felt the skin of his eyebrow split open, the blood rushing to his face, pulsing and deafening.

Mickey watched him, eyes wide and breathing almost erratic for a moment. He was chewing on the skin of his index finger, looking torn as Ian struggled to sit up. Then he bolted, walking as fast as he could back towards the remains of the car park.

Stumbling to a standing position, Ian watched Mickey walking away from him and Ian thought of jagged glass ripping, cutting into his skin, his insides spilling out. He thought of the fire burning up in his chest, his throat blackened and burned with smoke that wasn't really there, the flames licking at the back of his eyes, making them water. He thought of those parasites you hear about in foreign countries that burrow under your skin and eat you from the inside out and isn't it mad that nobody notices how you're literally dying, crumbling, falling apart right in front of them. He felt the heavy weight of his heart in chest as Mickey walked into the shadow of the grey building.

And all Ian thought about was never feeling his fingers dig into Mickey's flesh again, never hearing the dirty laugh flow like water from Mickey's mouth, never see the teasing smirk he'd get on his face after he'd purposely got Ian worked up or annoyed. Those thoughts pushed Ian forward, ignoring the pain in his gut and the blood seeping from his eyebrow, running after Mickey.

"Fuck off Ian" Mickey spat, his voice strained, as he turned round, backing up when Ian tried to move closer. "or I swear..."

"What?" Ian asked, anger thick in his voice, half bent over with the pain in his gut from Mickey's punch making it hard to breathe, "like you could do more to hurt me?"

Mickey shook his head and turned away, walking faster towards the exit, looking for an escape.

Ian took a breath and caught up with him. He spun Mickey towards him and crashed their lips together, knuckles turning white from the grip he had on Mickey's jacket.

The taste of mickey, tinged with alcohol and apologies and a place that Ian wanted to call home, spread through his veins like wildfire.  
The world, like it always did, stopped spinning on its axis, the wind stopped blowing and the universe became about them. Him. Mickey.  
And all Ian knew about that world was that he wanted to live in it forever.  
The only air he needed was the breath from Mickey's mouth, the feel of his lips as they traced his own, the only thing he needed was the touch of Mickey's fingers weaved in his hair, knotting and pulling and...  
then Mickey was pulling away and the air became thick and the world spun again with Southside and brothers who fought just to feel something and homophobic fathers and sisters that slutted around and a place so fucked up that Ian just wanted to crumble.

Mickey wouldn't look up from the ground, his hands still in Ian's hair, fingertips pressing hard against his skull. Then they were gone and suddenly Ian felt everything all at once, anger and hurt and so much more.  
And Mickey still wouldn't look at Ian as his fist swung forward like an axe, punching, breaking. _Ending._

As Ian slid to the ground all he could feel was the rush of blood in his mouth like liquid pennies. His vision blurry, hazy like a kaleidoscope, with the image of Mickey walking away from him, out into the sunlight.


End file.
